


How I Spent My Zombie Apocalypse (by Shawn Spencer, age 33 3/4)

by GypsyJr (HippieGeekGirl)



Category: Psych, Zombieland (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, F/M, Family, First Time, Horror, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Apocalyptic, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-25
Updated: 2010-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HippieGeekGirl/pseuds/GypsyJr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The outbreak reaches Santa Barbara, and an odd little family grows a little bit bigger. And odder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I Spent My Zombie Apocalypse (by Shawn Spencer, age 33 3/4)

**_Day 78 post-outbreak – 12:47 PM_**

"I keep telling you, it's not looting if you pay for things. You left at least twice what this stuff was worth." Shawn dug through the bag of liberated groceries and came up with a slightly ancient packet of beef jerky. "Besides, we only took what we needed."

"You needed a copy of Sports Illustrated and a Sham-Wow?"

"I might!"

Gus shook his head. "I still can't believe you're eating that stuff."

"I had a serious protein craving. Besides, this is dried. I thought germs needed moisture."

_"Shawn."_

"Look, buddy, it's sweet that you're still worried about me catching zombiepox, but all that stressing can't be healthy. Whoa, hey, pull over."

Gus brought the car to a halt next to the wreckage of a late-model sedan. From the looks of things, it had run off the road some time ago. "What are we looking at?"

Shawn simply pointed as a small, dirty spaniel-type dog crawled out from under the car, limping painfully on its back leg.

Gus looked at Shawn sympathetically. "We really need to get back soon."

"I know, but he's hurt, Gus. You're not seriously saying we should leave him here."

He sighed. "No, I'm not. But try to hurry."

Shawn approached the dog, only to be met by a low growl. "Easy, fella. We're here to help."

"I think he's protecting the car."

Shawn crouched down, holding a piece of jerky out as a peace offering. "Hey, boy. I bet you're hungry, huh? Not a lot of Kibbles and Bits out here."

The dog scooted forward, apparently trying to decide whether Shawn could be trusted. Finally, appetite overcame fear as he gobbled down the meat.

"Attaboy." Shawn scooped up the dog in his arms, feeding it the rest of the jerky. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Uh, Shawn?"

"What?"

"That dog's a girl."

**_Day 0 – 9:12 AM_**

The end of the world had started out perfectly normally.

"Listen closely, gentlemen. We've recently received quite a few disturbing reports of unusual violent behavior." Chief Vick slid the file folder containing their latest case across the desk. "Our current best guess is that some kind of new drug has just hit the streets. We have a suspect in custody-"

That was as far as they got before all hell broke loose in the holding cells. By the time they reached the room, Lassiter was standing over a dead blood-soaked prisoner and McNab was missing a two-inch chunk of flesh from his arm.

**_Day 78 – 12:53 PM_**

"Jules, open up, it's me."

In the wake of the virus's outbreak, Santa Barbara had been all but completely destroyed. The police station was one of the few buildings which remained relatively intact. From behind the door, Lassiter's voice echoed from somewhere deep within. "Password, O'Hara!"

He couldn't quite hear Juliet's frustrated sigh, but he could imagine it. "Sorry, Shawn. He's not letting that go."

Shawn rolled his eyes, staring up at the sky. "John Wayne."

There was a rattle of chains being unlocked and then Juliet was standing in front of him, still clad in riot gear. "You're back."

"Temporarily, yeah. Can I come in?"

"Oh! Of course." She pushed the door open further to allow him access.

"We brought you some stuff. You know, supplies and such."

Juliet reached into the bag, smiling slightly as she pulled out a roll of toilet paper. "Two-ply. Classy."

"Well, you know, nothing's too good for you."

She looked into his eyes, suddenly blinking back tears. "I really wish you didn't have to go."

"Me too." He wrapped his arms around her as she hugged him tightly. "Tell Lassie I said bye, okay?"

"I will." Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. "Give Gus my love."

"Will do." He pulled back as she regained her composure. "Sucks being the last ones standing, doesn't it?"

"So much." She chuckled grimly as she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Take care of each other."

"You too."

**_Day 3 – 9:23 PM_**

It wasn't long before it became clear just how bad things were. The police were out in force trying to quell the mass panic, phone lines were jammed to capacity and beyond, and the streets were packed with travelers whose only instinct was to flee. Only there was nowhere left to flee to.

Shawn was growing increasingly restless. Gus had managed to get in touch with his sister before the lines of communication had completely broken down, but Shawn had no idea of his family's whereabouts save for a note stuck to his father's back door. He was pacing the floor of Gus's apartment like a caged animal, nearly frantic as the exhausted newscaster on CNN droned on.

_"-the entire eastern seaboard has been declared a disaster area-"_

Shawn froze. The last time he'd heard from his mother was three weeks ago, when she'd been teaching a seminar somewhere in New England. Gus hesitantly rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Shawn…"

Shawn turned to face him, looking more utterly lost than Gus had ever seen him. That was when he realized he had no idea what to say. He couldn't tell Shawn not to worry, and he certainly couldn't promise that things would be alright when the whole world had gone completely and horrifically wrong. There was only one thing he could think to offer, and as he closed the gap between them, he could only hope it would be enough.

**_Day 78 – 1:17 PM_**

They'd planned on taking Shawn's motorcycle for the journey out of town, in order to make traveling the debris-congested highways easier. The addition of a furry little tag-along hadn't figured into the equation, but the problem was easily solved once Gus figured out that the dog could ride quite comfortably in his backpack.

They wove through the streets, dodging remains both mechanical and human, until they slowed to a stop in front of the former Psych office. The building had been gutted, its once-cheerful façade blackened and crumbling. Only a few shards of glass remained in the window, and the torn blinds looked like a mouthful of shattered teeth.

The only sound was the idling of the motor. Gus leaned over Shawn's shoulder. "You want to go in?"

"No."

**_Day 3 – 10:56 PM_**

"Shawn?"

"Hmm?" His voice was fogged with endorphins, but from the looks of things, neither of them was going to fall asleep any time soon.

"We just-"

"Yep."

"And there's still-"

"Mmm-hmm."

"And you-"

"Had totally awesome comfort sex with the person I've loved my entire life?" Shawn yawned, flinging his arm over Gus's chest. "You know, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what I did."

"Just as long as I know where we stand."

There were a few much-needed moments of calm as they shifted together. "I think we should go to the station tomorrow."

Gus frowned. At the moment, the thought of moving at all was extremely unappealing. "Why?"

"It's probably the safest place left in town. We can lie low for a while, get our bearings and then go look for my dad."

"You're still sure about the cabin?"

"The note said 'Gone Fishin', Gus. He had to be telling me where to look."

Gus nodded slowly. It was exactly the sort of thing Henry Spencer would do, and if it turned out they were wrong… well, at least for now they had hope.

Neither of them could have known that it would take over two months to put this plan into action.

**_Day 78 – 3:02 PM_**

They were slowly working their way south when they first ran into the other survivors. Shawn hung back behind an abandoned Jeep, observing the group. There were four of them - a skinny, curly-haired kid holding hands with a pretty girl who looked way out of his league and an older, taller guy carrying a younger girl piggyback-style. The skinny kid was telling some story, judging by his gesturing, and the older guy had a scowl on his face that looked like it was trying to hide a laugh. All in all, it was an incongruously happy-looking scene.

Except for the pack of hungry undead bastards trying to climb up the side of the overpass.

"Gus, hang on."

Throwing the bike into gear, Shawn darted forward, skidding to a stop in front of the zombie interlopers and unholstering the police-issue handgun he'd strapped on for just such an occasion. Behind him, Gus was drawing his own weapon with ease born of practice and necessity, and within seconds bodies were hitting the pavement with a sickening yet satisfying squooshy noise. For a brief, absurd moment, Shawn was reminded of David Letterman throwing stuff off buildings.

"Okay, that was fairly impressive." Skinny Kid poked his head out from behind the truck he'd been using for cover. "I thought you were gonna do the whole 'gun in both hands' double-action thing for a minute."

Shawn shook his head. "Nah, that's Hollywood stuff. It looks cool, but most of the time you're lucky if you hit anything you're aiming for."

There was no trace of amusement left in the older man's glower now. Apparently this wasn't unusual, as the kid soldiered on brightly. "So, where're you guys headed?"

"My dad's got a cabin out in the mountains. We're going out there to check it out."

"You know, we're not headed anywhere in particular. Maybe we could-"

The hot girl grabbed him by the collar. "Could we have a word with you over here, please?"

The discussion that ensued wasn't exactly an argument, but it looked like it was getting close. Shawn looked at Gus, who shrugged. "I don't have a problem with it."

The not-quite-argument took a brief hiatus when the younger girl spotted the puppy poking her head out of Gus's bag. Her face lit up and for a moment she looked like the innocent little kid she must have once been. The older man threw up his hands in defeat. "Alright, fine, but don't come whinin' to me when this all goes to hell."

"Been there, done that," the older girl muttered.

"Guess that's settled, then." The skinny kid turned back to Shawn and Gus, wiping a hand on his pants. "I'm Columbus. This is Tallahassee, Wichita, and Little Rock."

The confusion must have been apparent on their faces as he continued. "See, we started out using place names to avoid getting too attached to each other, and obviously that didn't work, but we're all kinda used to it now."

"Huh. That's... weird."

Gus gave him a look. "Weirder than introducing me as Rolf Edgar Flankenshtein?"

"Moderately, yes."

"I got Christmas cards from those people!"

"Hey! If you three are done flappin' your jaws, I'd really like to find some transportation before we all end up as lunch meat."

Shawn let out a small whimper at leaving the bike behind, but made a point of leaving the keys in the ignition. "Someone might need it."

Gus didn't have the heart to point out how unlikely this was.

**_Day 79 – 7:42 AM_**

The first stop on the Road Trip from Hell was to restock their provisions. It took some doing to find a grocery store in an accessible location (i.e. not riddled with walking corpses) and even more searching to find one that hadn't been completely ransacked. By some happy coincidence, they managed to find a fairly deserted plaza containing both food and a sporting goods store.

Pickings were still slim, however, and after they'd gathered what they could and played a slightly nauseating game of indoor baseball with a few rotten oranges, there was nothing much else to do.

Columbus toed the shredded remains of a package of low-fat cheese as they made their way out of the store. "I still don't know how anyone eats this stuff."

Wichita pointed out a moldering package on a nearby shelf. "I'm still trying to figure out why anyone would individually wrap prunes."

"Are we about ready to get our asses out of here?"

"Wait!" Shawn held up a hand. "I can't believe I almost forgot!" He grabbed a cart and sprinted back down the aisle. Tallahassee tilted his head, trying to figure out what he was after.

"Canned pineapple?"

"Only because there aren't any fresh ones left," Gus explained with a shrug. "And believe me, he's looked."

"That is just fuckin' bizarre."

"Says the man with the Twinkie addiction," Columbus retorted.

"Eh. Fair point."

When they pulled out of the parking lot of the Pik N' Save, the back of the hotwired SUV was full of ammo, dog food and Dole cans.

**_10:52 AM_**

"So you've never seen _Sixteen Candles_."

"Nope."

"_Pretty In Pink_?"

"Nuh-uh."

"_Breakfast Club_?"

"Nnnnope."

"Nothing from the John Hughes canon?"

"John who?"

Shawn clutched a hand to his chest. "You wound me, madam."

"Hey, I didn't even know who Bill Murray was until a couple of weeks ago."

"Didn't - okay, now I just feel old. What about _The Princess Bride_? _Karate Kid_?"

Little Rock just looked at him blankly.

"That's it. Next town we hit, we're knocking over a Blockbuster."

**_Day 80 – 12:06 PM_**

It wasn't long before they stopped again. They needed to switch vehicles – often an easier and faster alternative to refueling an empty gas tank – and it turned out Shawn had been serious about the Great DVD Heist, though no one else was quite sure what exactly he planned to do with them. Wichita had just managed to pick the lock on an old Ford van when the pack of zombies appeared across the road. They looked like they might have been cheerleaders once upon a time, but now all they were was trouble.

Shawn shoved the bag he was carrying into Gus's arms. "Hold this, I'll be right back."

"Shawn!"

"Just go!"

It took a few moments for the horde to notice him, and Shawn used that to his full advantage as he ducked and weaved through the parking lot, diverting their attention from the rest of the group. They had just started to gain on him when the engine of the Ford was finally coaxed to life.

"Shawn! Come on!"

He turned and sprinted toward the van, the zombies resolutely closing the gap between them. Gus gasped as he tripped and fell hard, skidding across the asphalt as the creatures, sensing weakness, quickened their pace. He immediately rolled over and pulled his gun, taking out the three ex-cheerleaders in the lead. The others stumbled, unable to slow themselves in time to avoid tripping over their fallen cohorts, and Shawn scrambled to safety. Gus barely had time to grab him by his waistband and slam the door behind him before they caught up.

Shawn sprawled on the floor, panting as Gus rifled through his bag for the first aid kit. After locating the necessary supplies, he took Shawn's hands and pulled him to a sitting position. He took out an antiseptic wipe and carefully began cleaning the angry scrape on Shawn's wrist.

"I always knew you could be stupidly brave on rare occasions, but that was something else."

Shawn blinked. "What? Someone had to be bait."

Gus was quiet as he spread antibiotic ointment on a strip of gauze and wrapped it around the wound. "You almost got yourself killed."

Shawn had become increasingly adept at reading his best friend's moods since the entire world had started falling down around them. He leaned forward, nestling his head on Gus's shoulder. "It's just a little road rash, buddy."

"_This_ time," Gus replied shortly as he finished tying off the bandage. "How's that feel? Not too tight?"

"It's fine." He wriggled his hand in demonstration before holding his arms out wide. "C'mere."

They huddled close together, listening to the rumble of the engine and the hushed voices of the others talking amongst themselves. Sighing, Shawn pressed himself against Gus's side and whispered in his ear.

"I'm not going anywhere."

**_11:45 PM_**

"Gus."

"What?"

Shawn scooted closer to him. "I'm cold."

Gus sighed, but wrapped an arm around Shawn's shoulder regardless. "Told you we should've stayed closer to the fire."

"Then I'd be too hot. You know I have a very delicate internal thermostat."

Gus rolled his eyes. "You know, if you wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask."

Shawn raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, but leaned into the embrace. "I hate camping."

"I'll protect you from the raccoons."

"Shut up."

**_Day 81 – 7:36 AM_**

The early morning light broke through the darkness as the wooded road they'd been traveling on for the past hour opened onto a large clearing. Shawn pulled the van over in front of the cabin, noticing his father's old truck parked alongside it.

"At least we know he's been here." Gus gave him a supportive pat on the back.

Shawn knocked on the door of the cabin, shuffling his feet nervously. He was only just realizing how much he'd been dreading what they might find. He let out a breath as he heard a familiar voice.

"State your name and business."

"Dad, it's me."

There was a pause as the door opened a crack. "Prove it."

Shawn bit back a curse. "When I was nine, you grounded me for a week after I broke a window playing indoor Frisbee."

The door opened and Shawn was surprised to find himself caught up in a bear hug. "Uh. Okay. Good to see you too, Dad."

"You had me worried." Somehow the ragged edge to his father's voice frightened Shawn more than mindless, diseased cannibals or life without TiVo. "Get in here, quick."

"Yeah. Come on, guys!"

The look on his father's face as five other people and a dog filed past him was almost worth the trip.

**_5:47 PM_**

Later that night, after introductions had been made, dinner had been caught, cooked and consumed (amid a lot of complaining from a certain faux-psychic) and everyone was gathered in the living room debating which pilfered movie to watch on the cabin's tiny TV, Henry returned to the kitchen. He wasn't entirely surprised to find his eldest guest already on dish duty.

"Hell of a day, huh?"

Tallahassee nodded. "Wasn't what I expected to be doin' six months ago, that's for damn sure."

"I know what you mean." Henry rolled up his sleeves and started in on the meager collection of plates and silverware. A faint musical fanfare from the other room meant the night's entertainment had finally been chosen. "Those three yours?"

The other man chuckled. "Guess they are now."

**_Day 83 – 9:11 AM_**

_"Breaker One-Nine, this here's the Rubber Duck-" _

"Shawn."

"What?"

"Tell me you did not just quote C.W. McCall."

"The man was a poet of the highways, Gus."

"He was a character made up to advertise bread."

"I've heard it both ways."

"Shawn?"

"Hi, Jules! How's it going?"

"Considering the circumstances, we're holding on alright. How did you find us?"

"The spirits guided me to the correct frequency… and I may have memorized the police band. Is Lassie there?"

"Right here. It's good to hear your voice, Spencer."

"Bet you never thought you'd say that."

"You have no idea."

"Anyway, we've been hearing reports about other survivors trying to organize. Thought you guys should know."

"Thanks, Shawn. We'll keep an eye out."

"Roger that. Just… don't literally keep an eye out. I hear that's unsanitary."

"I'll keep that in mind."

**_Day 85 – 11:27 AM_**

The house was quiet as Gus returned from a late morning fuel-foraging run. The only one around was Wichita, who was lounging on the sofa reading an extremely outdated copy of People magazine.

"Shawn upstairs?"

She nodded. "Everyone else went out to find food."

That explained it, then. They'd been at the cabin for four days and Shawn had steadfastly refused to hunt, fish, or generally do anything more strenuous than taking the dog out to play. It was driving Henry crazy. Gus climbed the cabin's creaky stairs, stopping at the room with the faded Tron poster on the door.

Shawn was stretched out on the old twin bed, arms crossed behind his head. The puppy was curled up at his feet, chewing on what looked like an old shoe. Gus thought he really needed to stop giving them to her. It would lead to bad habits.

"Hey." Gus joined him on the bed, getting comfortable as Shawn made room for him. "You remember the last time we were here?"

"I teased you about your Spider-Man backpack and you put worms in my socks."

He sounded quieter than usual. Worryingly so. "What's on your mind?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm just wondering where we go from here."

Gus studied him. "You getting bored?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

Gus reached down and picked up the puppy, ratty old Stride-Rite and all. "Look, I don't know what's gonna happen next any more than you do. But you know I'll be right here with you when it does." He held up his closed fist in their old familiar gesture of solidarity, only to have Shawn meet it halfway.

"You know that's right."


End file.
